


the lad doth protest way too much

by thesecretdetectivecollection



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Carra butchering Shakespeare, M/M, Redders being a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/pseuds/thesecretdetectivecollection
Summary: "Why does everyone think we're dating?" "What?! Who the hell thinks we're dating?!" In which Jamie and Gary are NOT dating, thank you very much.(Not even if Gary secretly thinks Jamie is attractive, in that weird Scouse way of his.)





	the lad doth protest way too much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_queenmaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_queenmaker/gifts).



"Do you wanna go out for a drink, Carra?" 

 

Redders is somehow always at ease in a suit, Jamie thinks, watching him lean against the wall as if posing for a fashion photographer. He even looks comfortable in his tie. Jamie yanks his own tie off— he's always felt like they were choking him, a little, but the wardrobe ladies had said that it was all in his head and he was a professional and couldn't go out with a loose tie. Redders had always seemed so cool when he was younger, just breaking in to the side, and maybe that had faded a bit, over the years, but not completely. It never did go away completely, judging by how Redders still adored Barnesy.  
  
"Drinks, Carra? Quit thinking and start talking, mate," Redders is gentle when he speaks to him, always has been, ever since he was a brash eighteen year old trying to hide how scared he was of ruining his opportunity to become a professional footballer.

 

“Sure,” Jamie says finally, “I had plans with Gary, but I’ll ask him if he wants to come to this instead.”

 

“Oh, another date? Don’t you think you’re moving kind of fast?”

 

Jamie chokes, which is impressive in and of itself, considering he wasn’t in the process of eating or drinking anything.

 

“Date?! With Gary?!”

 

“Yeah, you guys spend all this time together, and you’re always, I dunno, mate, _touching_ him, I guess. It’s sweet. I won’t tell Stevie, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though I think he might already know, he sent me this text—“

 

“Sorry, _Stevie_ now also thinks I’m dating Gary Neville?”

 

“Nobody’s mad at you for it, we aren’t playing football anymore, it’s not like you’re sleeping with the enemy, it’s just like dating, I dunno, a Tory or a posh boy. He isn’t like us, but you’re free to do him if you wanna do him, J.”

 

“ _Do him?_ You think I’m _sleeping_ with Gary Neville?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I did think so. You never struck me as the type to wait until marriage. No offense, J, but I don’t think either of you will be pure and untouched when that time comes. I remember at least one time with that stripper during the Christmas party—“

 

“Jesus Christ, Redders, _honestly_! No wonder people call you the sixth best pundit on Sky—”

 

“—Sixth?! I was hanging tough at fifth before!”

 

“—That was before I joined, J. Anyway, you don’t have to worry, I’m not sleeping with Gary.”

 

“So you're taking it slow then?”

 

“No! We’re not dating. We’re just mates. Like you and me are mates. Only not, because he’s a better pundit than you.”

 

“Kids. So damn ungrateful, you look out for them and then they throw you to the wolves. Absolute disgrace, Carra,” Redders says easily as he drapes an arm around his shoulders and goes to leave the studio.

 

“Gaz!” Jamie calls as they walk past him, “Redders is taking us out for drinks!”

 

“Oh, I thought we were—“ Gary catches the look on Jamie’s face and thinks better of arguing. “Okay, drinks with Redders then. Sounds great.”

 

Gary grabs his coat, looking at Redders' arm around Jamie, just long enough that he ducks out from under it and flushes.

 

He hears Redders let out a soft little _huh_ of enlightenment. Gary looks at him quizzically.

 

“Redders thinks we’re dating,” Jamie says shortly.

 

“Correction, Carra: Everyone thinks you’re dating. I was just the only one ballsy enough to ask you, mate, because I’ve known you since you were a baby.”

 

“What?! Who the hell thinks we're dating?!" Gary says indignantly, at the same time as Jamie opens his mouth.

 

“I was _sixteen_! Wait, _why_ does everyone think we’re dating?”

 

“Uhh, I already said. Everyone—me, Thierry, Graeme—he doesn’t approve, by the way, J, Phil, Lamps when he was in the other day, Stevie sent me an odd text the other day, so maybe him… And as for why… I mean, it’s pretty obvious isn’t it?”

 

“Apparently not, Redknapp,” Gary says dryly.

 

“You flirt. All the time. You are aware of that right?”

 

“That? That’s just banter!”

 

“’I have other love interests beside you.’ That is a direct quote from your Twitter, J.”

 

“Okay, creepy,” Jamie mutters, “friends should not be able to quote friends’ Twitters.”

 

Gary flushes, remembering what had brought that tweet about.

 

“That was a joke!”

 

“Jamie posted a picture of himself with the same type of motorcycle helmet as you posted in that picture of you from a couple months ago. Rumor has it J has a bike fetish now.”

 

“Fucking hell, Redders, do you actually believe that?!”

 

Redders shifts uncomfortably. “No! I don’t really believe it, but, uh, I don’t, uh, _not_ believe it either? If you know what I mean.”

 

“That makes no sense, Redders! You’ve known me for how long now?”

 

“Definitely over fifteen years, met you when you were sixteen or seventeen I think—“

 

“Exactly! That’s plenty of time for you to know me well enough to recognize that I don’t have a bike fetish! _Jesus Christ_ , Redders! And you said Stevie thinks so too? Now I have to call him and talk some sense into him—“

 

“No offense, J, but methinks the lad doth protest too much, mate.”

 

 _Great, now he’s butchering Shakespeare_ , Gary thinks to himself, _could this conversation get any worse?_

 

“I am not dothing protesting too much! You’re a dothing idiot!”

 

_I stand corrected._

 

“Okay! Okay. You’re not dating Gary Neville, my mistake. Now come on, I’ll buy the first round, make up for the misunderstanding.”

 

Redders throws an arm around Jamie’s shoulders and walks him along, still listening to reasons why the whole idea was ludicrous.

 

Gary didn’t mind it much, actually. Jamie was pretty fit, actually. He had the salt and pepper thing going on in his hair, and it really worked for him. And he had those eyes that were sort of ocean colored? Not the ocean in postcards, the bright blue Caribbean, but the ocean in paintings of storms and tired sailors, and—

 

“Come on, Gary, keep up! I’m buying!”

 

Gary shakes the thoughts of weary seafarers sailing across the ocean of Jamie’s eyes and jogs to catch up with them.

 

Redders buys the first few rounds, because Carra’s a curious mixture of brother and son to him, and he always feels the need to treat him, somehow.

 

But he has a wife and kids to get back to, so he finishes the third round, claps Gary on the shoulder, and gives Jamie a hug verging on paternal before he heads home, leaving the pair of them there alone.

 

Jamie does enough talking for the both of them, so Gary can get lost in thought now and then, and he does. He hadn’t been upset at Redders’ misconception, really, more amused than anything else.

 

But it had stuck in his head, the idea, sticking to other thoughts he’d rather he didn’t have. Because Jamie… he’s attractive, and Gary knows it—he isn’t blind, after all. He’s fit, but it isn’t _fit_ like Becks. It’s just fit, no italics. Fit for function, not aesthetics.

 

Still, he’s got great arms. Really strong. He posts videos on Instagram sometimes, of him boxing and hanging out with his trainer and all that, and wow, maybe it’s because he’s slightly buzzed but suddenly Gary can really see how it’s all paid off, because Jamie’s biceps are _incredible_.

 

“Come on, Gaz, let’s get you home. And I’m probably crashing at yours, by the by. Not taking a cab all the way back to Liverpool. A drunk Scouser in Manchester at this hour… might be best to stay with you.”

 

“Sure, I gotta couch,” Gary says easily.

 

“Gaz. You were a professional footballer. You’ve got a spare bedroom. I’m nearly forty years old, I’m not sleeping on the sofa.”

 

Gary chuckles a little. “Huh, I forgot.”

 

Jamie looks a little worried and grips Gary’s arm tight as he gets them a cab. The cab ride is mostly quiet, though not uncomfortable. Just—Gary’s a little drunker than he thinks he is, and Jamie figures he can use the time to sober up a bit.

 

They get there and Jamie pays the cabbie while Gary stumbles to his front door and struggles with the lock, until Jamie comes and takes the key from him and kindly informs him that no, the key to his BMW won’t also work for his front door.

 

“Why the hell not, Jamie?” Gary wails petulantly.

 

“I dunno, Gaz, you can call BMW headquarters in Germany tomorrow morning and ask. Just get some rest before.”

 

Gary is drunk enough to be a little stupid and careless, but he’s not quite blackout drunk. He shows Jamie to the guest bedroom and lingers in the doorway as he gets settled in case he needs anything else.

 

“Still can’t believe Redders thought we were dating. Going home together won’t have helped that idea, I reckon,” Jamie says with a little laugh.

 

“Wouldn’t mind it,” Gary confesses, “you’re pretty fit, J. Wouldn’t mind dating you.”

 

“You’re shitfaced, mate. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

 

Gary agrees placidly, letting Jamie guide him into his own bed—he’s out the second his head hits the pillow.

 

He wakes to sunshine and pain like he’s been kicked in the head.

 

There’s a couple of aspirin and a glass of water on the bedside table, and Gary doesn’t question it, just thanks his drunk past for looking after his hungover present.

 

He manages to splash some water on his face and go downstairs, where he’s greeted by some bread in the toaster, a mug of tea, just the way he likes it, and a mini fry up, eggs and bacon and all the things he needs to recover from a hangover.

 

There’s a little note next to the coffee.

 

_Had to get home—scheduled training with boxing coach. Thanks for letting me stay last night._

 

Gary’s half disappointed to have missed him, really, settling down at the place set for him at the counter, until he sees the other note, half-tucked under the plate.

 

_Dinner on Friday? I’m buying._

_P.S. I meant as a real date, not just mates having dinner. Just so we’re clear._

_P.P.S. Don’t tell Redders, or he’ll think I’m dothing protesting again, and I’m dothing not._

 

The following Monday, all of them are hanging about in a lounge just a bit away from the MNF studio. The room starts to empty out, people going to their places as it gets closer to their start time, making sure everything’s ready.

 

Jamie grabs Gary’s hand and waits for the room to empty out until it’s just them and Redders, flipping absently through a football magazine.

 

“Hey, Redders,” he says cautiously.

 

Redders looks up at him expectantly.

 

“Uh, we _are_ dating now. Just so you know. Okay, bye!”

 

Gary suddenly understands the functional aspect of the hand-holding as he gets yanked out of the room.

 

“Me _knew_ the lad doth protested too much!” Redders crows in delight behind them, “Stevie owes me fifty quid!”

 


End file.
